Mud
by betty.ehlers
Summary: The journalist at Kurtz's compound finds Willard in a quite appealing situation and gets in serious trouble later. Non-explicit erotic, Journalist/Willard, One-Shot. If you don't like slash, you can skip chapter one. Chapter 2 and 3 are about what happened after the Movie's end.
1. Mud

**Mud**

I had been watching. Kurtz had pleased him with his presence and now this nasty head lay in the mud. A freshly severed human head. Disgusting!

Willard was alone now, except for my presence, but he had not noticed me yet. I grabbed a stick and came out of hiding. Slowly I stepped in front of Willard, who was helplessly tied to the bamboo bars of a cage and could barely move.

He saw me coming, but said nothing. With the stick, I pushed the dreadful head out of my sight. It's not like that there was nothing else in this place that was disgusting, but I had not to get too close to those things if I did not wanted to.

Once that was done, I squatted in front of Willard. It was raining, I was wet, he was wet and the ground was muddy. My feet sank half into the mud.

I raised a finger and swore to him he was privileged. Willard just looked at me. The expression of his eyes was tortured and yet somehow expectant. What great thing could he expect from _me_? What did I expect from _him_? What was it I wanted of him in that moment? I had to admit, I was quite aroused by what I have seen. No, not quite, very much! It was Willard's situation. But now, as I sat in front of him and he just stared at me – like he had just been staring at Kurtz – I knew it was _him_, he aroused me. I have been like a bee, which constantly buzzed around him. Now the reason for my behaviour became clearer to me. Yes, I was now fully aware and in this situation I could do nothing more than to abandon myself to it.

"Damn privileged", I repeated as my stick, that I still held, already stroked along his neck and followed the line of the string, which was wound tightly once around his neck and was binding him to the bars he leaned against. Willard simply continued staring at me. My stick wandered further down over his chest, his belly ... He turned his head away from me and stared into the nothingness of the dark night. I crept closer to him, the best moment I thought, now that he was looking away. I left the stick in the mud.

I was now close to his left side and with one hand I pulled slightly on the string around his neck to test his reaction. Willard moaned softly as the thin string strung tightly around his neck. His soft sigh put me instantly into a little ecstasy. I almost answered him with a sigh, but I pulled myself together while I still could. I noticed that his lips were slightly parted, and how delicate they actually were. Too delicate for a man I thought. I put a hand under his chin to turn his averted face to me, but then I eagerly slipped a finger between his lips, felt how warm they where and began to kiss his neck, almost automatically. He was covered in mud, but that did not bother me, it made the experience even more exciting. With my mouth I felt his skin, the string which was wonderfully smooth and pressed hard against his neck and I pulled it again to elicit him to this sweet tone again and I felt his lips tremble a little. The bliss that it gave me was fantastic.

I looked at him again, saw how my finger played with his lips and enjoyed the sight and the warm, gentle feeling.

"That – ", I wanted to say something, but it was immediately forgotten.

His eyes were still open, staring into the void. They seemed incredibly bright and wide with all the dark mud on his skin.

I became aware of his scent, which hung subtle around us in the air and I could not resist to let my hand, which was just playing with his lips, slip under his sodden shirt to touch what was underneath. My fingers stroked damp, hot skin and wet hair which slipped through my fingers. I fondled it and followed its line on his belly down to his waistband, where I kept my fingers circling for a while. Willard swallowed and closed his eyes. I imagined he would enjoy this, maybe he did, who knows.

However, when I opened his pants to fondle even deeper down, he opened his eyes again, and I heard his breathing grew louder.

"You will regret this", he threatened me unexpectedly with a quite pitiful voice.

"What are you going to do?", I asked him, without thinking of what would be in the next coming days. I felt so superior and Willard, unable to act, responded with nothing.

My hand already slid deep down his crotch and I felt that he was pretty aroused. That was probably inevitable.

I gave him a wonderful massage while I pulled his shirt up to under his chin, bent down and fondled his chest extensively with my mouth. My God, I was so horny, but I did not dare to touch myself. I only enjoyed him.

After a while I heard some pitiful, little sounds that Willard emitted. I looked up at him and saw the slight ecstasy in his eyes, on his lips – I finally dared to kiss them and God they were so wonderful, so gorgeous, so soft, so tender, I almost lost my mind! I enjoyed them. I enjoyed their fantastic shape, taste and I enjoyed that he did not defend – would not, could not, just was not able anymore –

Something very warm moistened my fingers that massaged him and I moaned satisfied as I still kissed him gently. His lips trembled. I took my hand back and let my fingers slip between his lips again. Then I put the same fingers to _my_ lips. I instantly felt an incredibly pleasant agony, I closed my eyes as if tormented, jumped up and ran away. I did not run far, and turned again to face him. He was slightly shivering, breathing heavily, staring bewildered into nowhere. I felt pleasure, overshadowed by guilt.

While everything went down the drain (Kurtz death), I got away. Alone. Of course.

Now and then I still could hear a voice, a cry, a signal – I did not know, the sounds were difficult to classify and were almost completely swallowed up by the pounding rain.

When I could not hear anything except the rain, I finally stopped. I had almost lost my way, but I could see the water and I knew after I was running downstream for so long, that somewhere was a shelter nearby, a cabin which I had built myself. That was a long time ago and as it was raining now, I feared it already could have been washed away by a landslide or the swelling river. The rain that had begun seemed heavier than ever before.

I was not scared, at least not of what was surrounding me, I had more fear of a terrible revenge.

I heard his voice in my head:

'You'll regret this!'

I had to continue to reach my cabin, but the mud was getting worse and I already sank knee-deep into it. I struggled forward, every step demanded great effort and I was so busy that I notice too late that I had already been discovered. Suddenly the wet swamp before me was lit up in a blinding white light. I looked to the river and was blinded by headlights. I knew the engines noise, it was Willard's boat which was now driving down the river. Sooner or later we had to meet. Blinded as I was, I could not see him, but I was sure.

I raised both arms as a peace offering, even though I knew how absurd it was. The engine stopped and the boat came slowly to a halt. I heard a thud and winced as the lights went out. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and finally I saw the outlines of two people on board.

One took off his shirt and jumped or climbed into the river and I could hear a voice that constantly cried:

"Why, why, why – !"

Why was I not shot at once? The whole situation seemed to be afflicted with madness.

The voice was now alone on the boat, and fell silent. My eyes scanned the gleaming surface of the water, gushing from the rain, but I saw nothing. I heard a splash quite close to me which alarmed me to immediately haste further, on all fours if necessary. So I groveled forward. The stinking mud was everywhere. I had already lost my boots, and I felt frightened that Willard grabbed my ankle and I could not crawl any further. Frantically I turned around. His hand let go of me and I saw how he rose in front of me. I could only see his blazing eyes and heard how he panted with rage. I could hardly breathe, the mud was spilled into my mouth and nose and I had no strength left.

My heart was pounding. I was lost.

Willard put a knee on my stomach, and pulled us both closer together as he grabbed my shirt upon my chest and then he reached to his belt with his other hand. The next moment he had put a knife to my throat. I could only see his eyes which did not even once desisted from me. He did not say anything, I did not say anything, we just stared at each other and then his eyes faded, like glass marbles swallowed by the darkness.


	2. Lance, the puppy

_Note: If you skipped the first chapter: Willard had killed the journalist for personal reasons. It happened a little further downriver, after Lance and Willard had left Kurtz's compound. The journalist was killed with a knife on the muddy shore, while Lance stayed on the adrift boat. (Though, I know how the journalist was supposed to die, as I watched the workprint)_

**Lance, the puppy **(Told by Lance)

Slowly, the wall of blackest darkness approached. I could still hear them; the drums, I heard them distinctly, calling, bewitching, spellbinding, dazing. I heard them as clearly as the pounding rain on the huge leaves of the black thicket in front of me. This night seemed endless, the rhythm monotonous.  
A new sound and a tremor broke the monotony, as the boat ran aground in the mud of the shore. It was out of control. No one navigated it.  
The black wall of trees was as close now, as if it was bending over me, stretching out its arms at me and whispered to me. The dark being that lurked in it, stared at me with sparkling eyes. It's voice became clearer and it called for me:  
"Lance, Lance hey. Snap out of it! Lance. Are you okay? "  
The horribly, dark creature wiped its arm across its face and assumed human shape.  
"Okay – ", I answered, or I just repeated the question.  
"You don't look good," the creature replied with Willard's voice.  
Out of breath he sat down right beside me on the floor, put a blood stained hand on my knee and, after a few more, strained breaths he said:  
"Shit. What a mess I got us in. Will you help me move her back on the river? "  
I looked at him and Willard nodded, trying to encourage me.  
"Okay," I muttered. Did I really said that?  
Willard got up again and climbed over the boat's rail. After a while I heard him calling me again. His voice sounded far away and indistinct.  
"Lance, come on!"  
"Now?"  
Another eternity passed, untill Willard sat beside me again.  
We sat there in silence for a long time. In the rain. Next to us I heard the slosh of the rainwater flowing out of the boat, above us was the eternal black sky, ahead of us the eternal black jungle.  
"There is no tomorrow", I had to let Willard know. I closed my eyes.

When I opened my eyes again, the dark night had turned into orange haze. The hum of the engine had replaced the platters of the rain. We drove again. I got up and looked at the river. Only dimly the trees distinguished against the sky.

I sat down behind the pilot-house, on the place which Willard had previously claimed for himself most of the time and listened to the radio. The haze had slowly changed its color. First it was orange, then pink, then yellow, and now it slowly turned white, or maybe it was just about to take on the color green. It was not as dense as it could be sometimes, but wafted past in clouds, leaving only occasional looks at the shore.  
I heard Willard muttering to himselve, but I focused more on the music. Only:  
" ... Lies – lie to save the own skin", I could hear.  
I looked at him. He was silent again, his head resting on the steering-wheel, his hands slid down slowly and his shoulders twitched.  
" ... A liar, a liar – how can I ... "  
He dropped to the ground and buried his face in his arms. Lost in my own, little world of thoughts, I said:  
"Chief", to him.  
I crept up behind him and put my arms around him. I felt compelled to comfort him, for me also occupied a strange sadness. In retrospect, I sobbed louder than he did. I did not understand what moved him so very much, after all during the last days we had gone separate ways. But what was it I did during that time? It was hard to remember, it was as if I had just learned to walk.


	3. The horrible truth

I felt so lost, so far away, away from everything that my life ever constituted and the more lost I felt, the more clearly became the whimpering that I heard. It sharpened my senses, I lifted my head and my worries were forgotten, because I knew this whimper – this whining!  
I immediately jumped up and climbed past the pilot-house to the bow to scout. I saw wreckage, much of it and after the next waft of mist had passed, I saw a barely perceptible movement.  
"There, the bank! Quickly, bear left!", I cried quite excited.

My heart jumped like crazy! I had him, I found him – my little puppy!  
He lived, he had survived! It was him, I was absolutely sure!  
We had already drifted passed the spot, but the Captain started the engine again, turned, and headed for the location to which I was pointing excited. The boat had not even come to a halt completely, but I jumped off it, waited through the water to the shore and climbed up the embankment. There he sat, between a corpse and a sea bag. He looked at me and I think he recognized me, because his little tail wagged. I picked him up and pressed him against my cheek.  
"Whooh!", I cried with happiness.  
From then on, the little one had a name: "Survivor"

We still were in Cambodia. I lay on Willard's place and Survivor slept in my armpit. Willard had not said a word, not anything about the puppy, nor about my joy, but I think he had smiled when he saw me comming back.  
Something bothered him. I turned my head towards him and asked:  
"What's the deal with the lie?"  
After long hesitation, Willard began to tell me everything that had happened in the camp. The lies that he presented to Kurtz, to save himself (to save us?) and how Kurtz taught him about truth and lies, right and wrong, and things like that, and he told me about the promise he gave to the Colonel: To tell the truth about the Colonel to his bereaved family. He, Willard, was reformed and yet he knew that he would not be able to deliver the truth.

But I think he withheld some details. I could never make him tell, why he had chased the journalists so eagerly to kill him eye to eye.  
Also, he kept many details about Kurtz. I never learned what the horrible truth included, except the things I have seen for myself.


End file.
